Chapter 1: The Worst Partner Possible
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x F!Reader
Genre: Fluff, angst, romance, mystery
Summary: As you begin your sixth year at Hogwarts, your life revolves around academics, ambition, and staying far away from Draco Malfoy—your longtime rival and the bane of your existence since the day you met. When Professor McGonagall assigns a year-long research project on forgotten Hogwarts history, you’re horrified to learn that the pairs have already been chosen—and you’ve been partnered with Draco.
Forced to work together, the two of you uncover a dark mystery hidden deep within the castle’s past. As ancient secrets come to light, it becomes clear that Hogwarts itself may have chosen you both for a reason. Drawn into a web of hidden magic, long-buried truths, and dangerous discoveries, you begin to see a side of Draco you’ve never known. What starts as a reluctant partnership soon becomes something far more complicated in this enemies-to-lovers story filled with mystery, magic, and romance.
Disclaimer: I used to be really into creative writing when I was younger, so it’s been a considerable amount of time since I have written in this style. Feedback/criticism are both welcomed and appreciated!
The moment you step through the giant oak doors of the Great Hall the sounds hit you like a wave. Hundreds of voices echoed beneath the enchanted ceiling, blending into a constant roar of laughter, greetings, and excited chatter. First-years craned their necks to stare at everything, while older students called out to friends they hadn’t seen all summer. The scrape of benches against stone floors mingled with the occasional clatter of dropped goblets and the distant hoot of an owl swooping overhead toward the rafters.
As a sixth-year, the sight and sounds should have been familiar by now. Yet every September, the Great Hall managed to feel magical all over again.
Hundreds of candles floated weightlessly in the air, their flames flickering gently despite the complete absence of wind. The smell was enough to make your stomach growl.
Platters groaned beneath piles of roast chicken, buttery rolls, honey-glazed carrots, and steaming potatoes. Sweet scents drifted from treacle tarts and warm apple crumble waiting at the far end of the tables. Beneath it all lingered the comforting scent of old castle stone, wood polish, parchment, and the faint trace of smoke from the torches lining the walls.
From a distance you spot your best friend, Poppy, sitting at the Slytherin table. Her bright red hair gleams under the shimmer of the floating candles above. There’s an empty spot beside her, which you already knew had been reserved for you. You excitedly bound over to her. “Poppy!” You exclaim.
Her head snaps around and her face beams with joy. She jumps up from the bench and throws her arms in air. “It’s been far too long!” She says as she grabs you intently and squeezes. You squeeze back as a feeling of familiar warmth and belonging settles over you.
The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation. Everyone at the Slytherin table seemed to be talking at once—comparing summer holidays, speculating about new professors, complaining about upcoming N.E.W.T.s, and exchanging rumors that had somehow spread before the train had even reached Hogwarts. Somewhere down the table, a group of seventh-years were already arguing about Quidditch. Across the hall, nervous first-years sat stiffly in their seats, glancing anxiously toward the Sorting Hat resting on its stool.
As you sit down beside Poppy and begin delving into the decedent feast in front of you, you can’t help but remember six years ago you were one of those frightened first years staring around you in absolute awe. Now it’s like you know every corner of the castle and every ghost likely to drift through one of the walls at the worst possible moment.
And yet, as the candles glimmered above you and the hall hummed with excitement, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this year would be different somehow. Aside from the N.E.W.T.s and the astronomical amount of homework you were going to have to complete.
The castle seemed to be holding its breath, as if it was waiting.
Waiting for something deep within its hidden walls to be awoken.
The next morning is gray and miserable.
Rain lashes against the tall windows of the Slytherin common room, distorting the view of the Black Lake beyond. The water outside is dark and restless, shadows drifting lazily past the glass as thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance.
You sit curled into one of the emerald-green armchairs beside Poppy, the warmth of the fireplace chasing away the chill that seems to cling to the castle after the previous night’s feast. Orange and gold flames dance across the polished stone hearth, their light flickering over the common room’s dark furnishings.
For a moment, you lose yourself in the fire. Something feels wrong. Not dangerous, exactly. Just… different.
The feeling had settled into your chest sometime during the feast and refused to leave. It was as though the castle itself had shifted while nobody was looking.
“I’m so excited that our first class is Transfiguration,” Poppy says, breaking the silence. She tucks a bouncy red curl behind her ear and grins. “We’ll finally start learning non-verbal spells this year. Professor McGonagall said we might even begin conjuring objects out of thin air.”
A small smile tugs at your lips. “It really is exciting, isn’t it?” The smile disappears almost as quickly as it came.
Poppy’s expression softens. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”
You hesitate. How were you supposed to explain something you didn’t understand yourself? The strange feeling wasn’t fear. It wasn’t anxiety. It was more like the sensation of standing in a room where someone had just left—a lingering presence you couldn’t quite identify.
“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “The castle just feels—”
“Well, well. If it isn’t Slytherin’s favorite pair of bookworms.”
The voice makes your stomach sink. You don’t need to turn around to know who it belongs to.
Slowly, you glance over your shoulder.
There he stands with the same infuriating smirk he always seems to wear. The firelight catches in his pale blond hair, making it almost glow against the dark stone walls.
The smug expression on his face suggests he believes he’s just delivered the cleverest remark in Hogwarts history. You strongly disagree.
“Malfoy,” Poppy says flatly, “leave us alone.”
His smirk widens, as you can tell he gets amusement from annoying the both of you. “Awh, come on. I’m only trying to be friendly.” The word friendly sounds so absurd coming from him that you nearly laugh. “You should try having fun sometime,” he continues. “There’s more to Hogwarts than burying your nose in books.”
“With N.E.W.T.s this year?” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “That might be the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”
Draco lets out a dramatic sigh. “There it is. I was beginning to worry you’d become interesting over the summer.”
You roll your eyes. Ever since first year, Draco Malfoy has possessed an extraordinary talent for making himself unbearable. Everything about him seems effortless. The confidence. The arrogance. The certainty that the world will always bend in his favor. Perhaps it comes from being a Malfoy. From growing up with wealth most people couldn’t imagine and a family name that opened doors before he even reached them.
Whatever the reason, he carries himself as though rules are merely suggestions and consequences are things that happen to other people. You have never understood it. And you certainly have never liked it.
“We’re all going to be late for McGonagall’s class, we better get going,” you state. Anxiously just trying to get him to go away.
“Pfft. Whatever,” Draco says with a dismissive laugh.
Yet as he turns to leave, something strange happens. For the briefest moment, his eyes flick toward the fireplace. Toward the flames. Toward the exact spot you’d been staring at moments earlier. And for a split second, the smirk disappears. A look of uncertainty crosses his face. Then just like that, it’s gone. So quickly that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.
The sixth-year students file into Professor McGonagall’s classroom in an expectant hush.
Nothing about the room looks unusual at first—until your eyes land on the neatly stacked piles of parchment arranged across her desk. Too organized. Too deliberate. Like something has already been decided for you.
A faint unease settles in your chest, though you can’t explain why. You take your seat beside Poppy on the right side of the room, setting your materials out in careful order. As you do, your gaze drifts across the classroom.
Three seats remain empty. Crabbe. Goyle. Malfoy. Of course.
The thought barely finishes forming before the classroom door swings open. Draco Malfoy enters like he owns the air itself.
“Apologies for the suspense, Professor,” he says smoothly, voice carrying easily through the room. “We didn’t realize punctuality was being graded today.”
It’s not an apology. It’s a performance. A few students snicker amongst themselves.
McGonagall’s expression does not change. “Detention is, Mr. Malfoy.”
His smirk deepens slightly, as if he’s just been handed an amusing compliment rather than a punishment. “Then I’ll try to be more fashionably late next time.”
He glances briefly around the room as he walks—slow, unhurried, entirely unbothered—like he’s searching for something he already expects to find.
For a split second, his gaze catches on the far corner of the ceiling. Just above the blackboard. You follow it instinctively. Nothing there. And yet— The air in the room feels… tighter, somehow. The moment passes. Draco drops into his seat as if nothing happened. You try to pretend that you didn’t notice it, shaking it off and trying to focus on what could possibly be planned for the year.
McGonagall clears her throat. “As you are aware, your sixth year is intended to prepare you for more an advanced magical study.” She pauses. “To that end, the faculty has approved a year-long research project.”
A collective groan ripples through the class. She ignores it entirely.
“Each pair will investigate a forgotten piece of Hogwarts history. You will conduct research, gather evidence, and present your findings at the end of the year.”
At that, a few students perk up. Poppy included. Others look horrified.
Then McGonagall adds information that changes everything, way too casually, “The pairs have already been selected.”
Whispers ignite instantly.
“They have been chosen specifically to encourage cooperation between students who may not normally work together.”
Your stomach drops. Poppy’s hand finds yours under the desk, squeezing tightly onto the little hope that you two end up being paired together.
McGonagall begins reading names. Most pairs draw mild reactions—shrugs, amused murmurs, and the occasional laugh.
Then you hear your name. Your heart stops for a split second.
The classroom is silent. Then laughter, scattered and immediate. Your head snaps up. Your stomach tightens for reasons that have nothing to do with Professor McGonagall.
Across the room, Draco looks equally appalled. “You cannot be serious!” he exclaims before he can stop himself.
“Quite serious, Mr. Malfoy.”
You raise your hand before being called on. “Professor, there has to be some kind of mistake.” You say it as politely as possible, not trying to sound rude.
“I assure you students, there is no mistake.”
You stumble over your words not trying to sound combative. “But, Draco and I can’t work together, it just won’t go well.”
“On the contrary,” Professor McGonagall replies calmly, “that’s exactly why you should.”
Draco lets out a disbelieving laugh. “She’s right Professor, this is a terrible idea.”
“May I finish announcing the names of the pairs now?” She asks noticeably annoyed with the backlash.
As she finishes reading the pairs, you can barely hear her over the racing thoughts in your mind. All you can think about is how badly this is going to turn out. About how your entire sixth year is going to be spent with someone you’ve hated from the first second you had met.
As the lesson comes to an end you pack up your stuff slowly. Students start filing out of the classroom. You notice Draco making his way to Professor McGonagall’s desk. Poppy leans in and says quietly, “Maybe you can talk to her and ask her to change your partner.”
You nod in agreement. “I’ll meet you in the common room.” She nods back with a soft yet encouraging smile before following the other students out of the classroom.
You meet Draco at Professor McGonagall’s desk.
“I’d like a different partner, Professor,” Draco demands.
Professor McGonagall looks up from her papers over the top of her glasses. You can tell she is no mood to compromise. “No,” she says assertively. The answer was so immediate neither of you know how to respond.
Draco folds his arms in disgust. “So you’re forcing us to work together for the whole year?”
“I did nothing but assign you an academic partner Mr. Malfoy, what you do with that is completely your choice.”
You and Draco exchange frustrated glances. For perhaps the first time in your life, you agree with him about something.
Professor McGonagall hands you each a piece of paper that contains the details of the project.
“You will meet weekly, submit progress reports, and conduct all research together.”
“And if we refuse?” Draco asks.
Professor McGonagall’s expression sharpens and she stands from her desk, leaning closer to the both of you. “Then you both will fail the course.” The words land heavily.
You don’t doubt that she means it, and from the looks of Draco he doesn’t either. He turns sharply and starts walking to exit the classroom, mumbling under his breath on the way out. Probably something about how his father will be hearing about this. You sheepishly go to collect your things and do the same.
The corridor outside the classroom is quieter than it should be. Not empty—Hogwarts never really is—but quiet in the way that makes every footstep feel deliberate.
You don’t make it far before Draco speaks “You’d better not slow me down.” It’s said casually, like a passing observation. But there’s an edge underneath it— and it’s unmistakably condescending.
You stop walking. Slowly, you turn to face him. “Me?” You snap. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Draco tilts his head slightly, as if you’ve said something mildly interesting rather than insulting. “I’m simply setting expectations,” he replies. “People tend to underperform when they’re emotional.”
A short, humorless laugh escapes you. “Right. Because you are famously the picture of emotional stability.” That earns you a look. Not anger. Something worse—amusement. Like you’ve confirmed something he already believed about you.
“You misunderstand me,” Draco says calmly. “I don’t expect you to keep up emotionally.” He steps closer now, just enough to make the space between you feel intentional. He’s looking deep in your eyes, making sure to hold eye contact. Probably some kind of intimidation tactic. And unfortunately, it’s working. You can’t help but to feel cornered. “I expect you to keep up intellectually.” The words land cleanly. He backs away and continues walking down the corridor.
You feel your jaw tighten in anger. You pick up your walking pace to catch up to him. “You think I can’t handle a simple school project?”
He turns to look at you as you both keep a steady pace, smirk plastered on his face. You can tell he enjoys getting under your skin. “I think,” he says, voice lowering slightly, “that people like you are very good at effort… and very bad at perspective.” That stings more than it should.
People like you. Like you’re part of a category he’s already filed away. You straighten and stop in your tracks, doing your best to stand your ground and not let him see your true emotions. “And people like you,” you shoot back, “are very good at acting like everything is beneath them when they’ve never actually had to struggle for anything in their life.”
He stops immediately and turns around to face you. For the first time, raw emotion flickers across his face. Something that is sharper than anger. “You assume a lot,” he says quietly.
There’s a pause. The corridor feels colder than it did a moment ago. Then Draco exhales through his nose, almost like he’s bored again—but his eyes don’t fully match it.
“Let’s make this simple,” he says. “We meet, we work, we finish. No distractions. No wasting time. No unnecessary commentary.”
“You mean no talking unless it benefits you,” you say smugly.
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “If that helps you focus, yes.”
You stare at him. There’s something infuriating about how composed he is. Like nothing you say can actually unsettle him. Like he’s already decided how all of this ends.
“Fine,” you say sharply. “But don’t expect me to do your work for you just because your last name opens doors.”
He takes a step toward you, bringing forth once again that intentional closeness. But he’s closer this time, his face within inches of yours looking down on you. You had never noticed before how much taller he was. It’s obvious he’s trying his best to make you feel small. His smirk returns—but it’s thinner now and more controlled. He looks you up and down before finishing, “I don’t need doors opened for me, I prefer ones other people don’t notice are locked.”
The words hang in the air a moment too long. Something about them feels l like they meant more than the conversation should allow. Then he turns away as if he suddenly decided that the exchange is already over. “Tomorrow,” he adds over his shoulder. “Library. Don’t be late.”
“Ironic coming from the person who was just late to class,” you think to yourself. You want to throw out a sarcastic comment, but you bite your tongue. Because just like that, he’s gone down the corridor.
You stay standing there for a moment longer than you mean to. You can’t help but dwell on the sense of impending dread for the months ahead of you.
The argument should’ve made things clearer, but all it did was make them more confusing. If anything, it feels like it’s the first time you’ve ever actually heard Draco Malfoy say something without fully understanding what he meant.
Authors note: Let me know what you think! I will most likely be posting chapter 2 here soon :)
